To maunder on this dusky, dubious trace
where one becomes lost and is never found
again; deafening his ears from the sound
that cries for help how to flee from this race
Unworthy and obtuse, last is my place
but no one heeds, as a snow falls on mound.
Now tell me how to stand tall on the ground
as I start quitting on this hurtful maze.
But then, my Father soon replied, "My child,
come to my arms, I bring you protection."
From that I ascertained a Father's love mild
who hears and accepts my imperfection,
who dedicates His life just for my earn.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 7:09 AM UTC
To maunder on this dusky, dubious trace
where one becomes lost and is never found
again; deafening his ears from the sound
that cries for help how to flee from this race
Unworthy and obtuse, last is my place
but no one heeds, as a snow falls on mound.
Now tell me how to stand tall on the ground
as I start quitting on this hurtful maze.
But then, my Father soon replied, "My child,
come to my arms, I bring you protection."
From that I ascertained a Father's love mild
who hears and accepts my imperfection,
who dedicates His life just for my earn.
An old poem I wrote back in High School for my English literature class.
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